


Of Runny Eggs and Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

by tinyarmedtrex



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Angst, M/M, bday gift, car crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:20:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19967935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyarmedtrex/pseuds/tinyarmedtrex
Summary: Stan was in a bad car crash, Richie deals with his emotions





	Of Runny Eggs and Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_lazy_eye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye/gifts).



“How could you, Stan? How could you do this?” Richie paused, choking on his next words. “I’m the reckless one, not you. How did you end up like this?” Richie said, staring down at Stan, his hands balled into fists. He was trying not to yell at the man but it was impossible. He was so angry, so upset that the sensible, reasonable Stan would do something so idiotic. 

The only response to his line of questions was the slow beep of the monitor, telling him that Stan was still alive, though barely. 

“It’s not fair. Our last real conversation can’t have been us breaking up. That’s bullshit. You can’t die just to prove a point.” Richie continued, reaching for Stan’s hand, needing to touch him to prove to himself that this was Stan, that it wasn’t some elaborate hoax. 

As he touched Stan’s hand he recoiled.

His skin was so cold. 

So unlike how Stan was supposed to be. His hands were always warm, something Richie had taken advantage of many times, grabbing them with his own cold ones, claiming he wanted to warm his up. Stan would always give him that little knowing smile as he wrapped his hands around Richie’s, blowing onto them. Richie loved that, loved how Stan’s hands felt around his and how safe it had felt. 

He loved everything about Stan. He could admit that now. There was no point in lying anymore. 

Richie stared down at him. If Stan was awake he’d hate how he looked. His perfectly coiffed hair was a mess, curls flying everywhere, bits of broken glass still embedded in them. He had a large gash on his arm and more small scrapes and bruises than Richie could count. His arm was in a sling and his neck was in a brace, things designed to keep him from moving, to prevent further injury to his already wrecked body. 

All of that paled in comparison to the real issue. Stan was in a coma. He had slipped into one yesterday and showed no signs of waking. The losers had been keeping a vigil, someone staying near Stan at all times in case he woke up, but with every passing hour it looked less and less likely that he would. 

Richie had heard what the doctors told Mike and Bill- that Stan was completely catatonic, that he had very minimal brain activity. The doctors were nice enough to tell them, rather than waiting for Stan’s parents to reply. They were on vacation, their first one in years, and hadn’t been able to make it back to the US yet. Ben had been the one to call them. Richie didn’t envy that.

“Why, Stan? You’re always so damn careful. Why did you run the stop sign?” Richie was still staring down at him, trying to force his brain to believe the sight in front of him. Part of him still wanted to reject it, to refuse to believe that the man he had loved-  _ still loved _ \- looked like this. 

Stan had been driving in his small car and had been t-boned by a semi truck. Richie had nearly vomited when he’d seen the picture of his car. It had been smashed beyond recognition. He couldn’t believe that anyone had survived that. 

“You’re always so cautious. You won’t even eat runny eggs. And then this?” His last words were strangled by a sob. 

“You can’t do this to me, to us.” He said, reaching down to touch Stan’s hand. He tried not to think about how long it had been since he’d touched the other man but the number came to his head unwillingly. Two months, six days and- he glanced at a clock- hour hours. That was the last time he’d woken up in Stan’s arms. 

“If you wake up I promise I’ll change.” Richie told him. Deep down, he knew that Stan couldn’t hear him but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I’ll start to overcook eggs, just like you like them. And I’ll ban all things mint chocolate chip from my life. I’ll even stop drinking gin- and you know how I love gin.” He wiped his eyes. He hadn’t even been aware that he was crying. “But Stan, I can’t have that be the last time we talked.” 

Stan’s chest rose and fell, his monitors beeped. Richie thought back to that day, the one he had replayed over and over in his head until he’d memorized every detail. He’s woken up like normal, flipping over in his boyfriend’s arms and kissing him all over until Stan was awake. They’d made love, slow and sweet. Maybe that should have been an indication. The two of them were both intense personalities and they brought it to the bedroom. 

This time though, it had felt like a goodbye.

After Richie had showered. When he’d come out Stan been sitting on the couch, looking miserable. Richie had sat down by him, trying to comfort the man but Stan had moved out of his reach, giving Richie a speech he could tell had been rehearsed.

_ Can’t do this anymore, we’re too different, it’s too hard, we want different things.  _

Richie had listened in stunned silence, not speaking until Stan finished. “A part of me will always love you, Richie, but I can’t do this. I’m trying to make you into someone you aren’t and that’s not fair to either of us.”

That had finally snapped Richie out of his stupor. He’d gone to Stan, taking his hands, squeezing them lovingly. 

“Stan, I’ll change. I don’t care that we’re different- I like that. I want this, you. Don’t do this. Don’t throw away what we have. I love you. Stan, I’ve loved you since we were kids and you carried that dorky bird book everywhere. I can’t live without you- we can make this work.” He’d been in shock, rambling on about all the memories they had- all the times with the losers and all the trips they’d taken, all the things they still wanted to do together. They’d taken nearly a decade to get together and Richie couldn’t believe that Stan was going to throw that away.

Stan had looked at him, tears threatening to spill over, and shook his head. “I don’t want you to change. You’re so perfectly Richie. You deserve someone who appreciates that.”

“I want you.” He gripped Stan’s hands tighter as he tried to slip out of Richie’s grip. “Stan, it’s always been you. When we were fifteen and at the barrens. When we were 18 and going to college. And now. It’s you. You’re it for me.”

Stan’s eyes had fallen then. It was like he couldn’t bear to look at him. “Don’t say that. You’ll find someone. Someone who doesn’t insist on folding their underwear or washing forks twice. You’ll find someone who’s fun, who can keep up with you.”

“You’re acting like those are dealbreakers. Stan, I knew your quirks before we got together. We’re best friends. You think I care about any of that? I don’t.”

Stan had finally pulled away, standing and going behind their couch to grab a small bag Richie hadn’t noticed. “I’m going to stay with Mike and Eddie. Please don’t be upset.”

Richie had made a sound that was between an humorless laugh and a sob. 

“Don’t be upset? The man I’ve loved since I was 13 is leaving me. The only person I ever imagined being with.” He set his jaw, nodding sarcastically. “But okay Stan, I’ll try not to be upset about it.” 

Stan had swallowed, still not looking at him.

“Goodbye Richie.” He’d walked to the door, leaving a broken Richie alone in their apartment. 

“I was so damn mad at you.” Richie told the current Stan. “You just decided that we weren’t going to work and you left. We didn’t get to talk about it. Fuck, Stan. I loved you.” 

He looked down at his friend. “I still love you.” 

He put his head down on Stan’s bed, letting the thin sheets absorb his tears. They hadn’t talked since then, not really. They would go to loser gatherings and stay on opposite sides of the room, drawing invisible lines that neither crossed. Richie constantly caught himself staring at Stan, wondering if he was still in pain or if he was over it, over him. He’d look away whenever Stan caught him, unable to meet his eyes. Nothing felt right anymore and it was hard to pretend that he wasn’t still broken. 

“Richie?” He sat up, unsure how much time had passed and saw Bill and Audra standing in the doorway. 

“Hey,” He wiped his tears, trying not to be annoyed at the interruption. They had as much right as him to be there, maybe more. Stan was still talking to them. 

“How is he?” Audra asked, moving to Stan’s bed and fluffing his pillow unnecessarily. 

“The same.” 

Bill looked a him, putting a hand on his forearm. “How are you?” 

Richie laughed. It came out scratchy and fake. 

“I’m awful.” He turned to Bill, unable to look at Stan anymore. “What if he doesn't wake up, Bill? What if this is it? What if we lose him?” 

Richie couldn’t handle it. The thought of never watching Stan cower at another horror movie, or never hearing him scream obscenities during L4D. He didn’t want it to be over. It wasn’t supposed to be over. 

He watched as Bill tried to think of something comforting to say, some truth that would make him feel better. 

“We won’t.” Bill finally said. “Stan is a fighter.” 

Richie glanced at him, at the machines keeping him alive. “Not sure he can win this fight.” 

“Richie, go home, get some sleep. We’ll call you if anything changes.” Audra said, wrapping her arms around him. He wanted to argue but he was damn tired and he needed to change clothes so he nodded, looking at Stan’s prone figure once more before moving to the door. 

As he entered his apartment he was struck by how it didn’t feel like home. It hadn’t since Stan had moved out. It wasn’t just that his things were gone, it was that Stan wasn’t there. His neatly lined up shoes weren’t in the entryway and the bathroom didn’t smell like his hair products anymore. Stan was gone from the apartment and maybe Richie’s life. 

“Fuck.” He went to the bathroom, intent on taking a shower and then sleeping. It wasn’t until the hot water was rushing over him that Richie broke. He had been crying before but now he sobbed, his tears mixing with the water until he wasn’t sure that he was even still crying. Then the dry heaves came, like his body had too much sadness and crying alone didn’t cover it. He didn’t know how long he was in there, he couldn’t force himself to move until the hot water ran out and he realized he was shivering. Only then did he drag his hand up to turn off the shower, forcing himself to get out and not collapse in the tub. 

He went into his bedroom, falling onto his bed naked and wet. He was exhausted, weariness seeped into his bones, but he couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking of all the things that he never said to Stan, that he may never get to say. Finally he turned, grabbing a pen and paper and writing them all down. He didn’t know what he’d do with it but at least it wasn’t swirling around in his head anymore. After that, he finally fell asleep. It was dreamless, like his body had too many other things to worry about and couldn’t be bothered to come up with a dream right now.

He woke up to a persisting ringing. It took him a second to realize that it was his phone and that it was Bill calling. 

“Get here now, he’s waking up.” 

That was all Richie heard before he was throwing on clothes and dashing to the door. He sped to the hospital, taking the stairs two at a time to rush to Stan’s room. The others were already there, gathered around the bed. Mike moved to make space for him as Richie walked over, suddenly nervous. Stan being awake could mean a lot of things- was he better? Did he remember? Did he even want Richie there?

As he stopped Stan turned to look at him. He still looked like shit but his eyes were open and he was smiling. “Always late, Richie.”

Richie laughed in utter shock and joy, staring at the man in front of him. “Just because you nearly died doesn't mean I need to change.” 

He saw the others exchange a look and then they melted away, leaving them alone. Seeing Stan awake and breathing should have been enough but Richie ached to touch him, to brush light kisses over his bruises and to hold his hand, to feel his heart beating. He knew it was selfish, the man had woken up, that should be enough, but Richie found himself reaching out, intending to adjust his curls. His hand was halfway there before he realized it and then they both stared.

“Richie-” Stan started, his eyes full of emotions that Richie didn’t want to read.

“What’s the diagnosis?” He interrupted, pulling his hand back and putting it in his pocket where it couldn’t cause more trouble.

“Broken. Most of me is broken. But repairable.” 

Relief rushed through him and Richie had to blink back tears. He closed his eyes and took several shuddering breaths. Stan was alive. Stan would be okay. They didn't lose him. Richie didn’t lose him.

When he opened his eyes Stan was watching him carefully.

“Bill, said you were here, that you stayed.” Richie nodded. “Why?”

He opened then closed his mouth, shocked that Stan had to ask. “Because it’s  _ you _ .” 

An array of emotions passed over Stan’s face and then he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What’s in your pocket?” Stan asked, pointing to the paper Richie had written on.

“Nothing important.” Richie said, stuffing the papers deeper into his pocket. They looked at each other, the weight of so much left unsaid bearing down on them. Richie wanted to tell Stan how he felt but that was selfish. Stan had to worry about recovery and himself, not about an ex who couldn’t let go. So, instead he said, “Do you want me to get the others? I’m sure Eddie would love to tell you what your nurses are doing wrong.”

Stan shook his head, his hand stretching towards Richie’s. Richie didn’t move until Stan’s hand grazed his leg. Then he took it from his pocket, letting Stan grab his fingers and pull him closer. “I’d like to be with just you for a minute, if you don’t mind.”

He shook his head, reaching behind him to pull the chair up and falling into it, never taking his hand from Stan’s. “Not at all.” 

A year later Richie used those notes in his vows as he stood at the altar, marrying his best friend. 

**Author's Note:**

> A big bday gift for one of my fav people <3


End file.
